Game, Set, Match
by x-HotMess
Summary: Isn’t it funny how one little sentence can change your entire opinion of someone? Shane/Tess


_I'm so scared of losing her._

Isn't it funny how one little sentence can change your entire opinion of someone? A seemingly impossible notion suddenly becomes possible and everything just falls into place. Something inside of you snaps and this one person who had appeared to be unbreakable suddenly becomes the most fragile thing you've ever laid eyes upon, and you can smash them to a million pieces.

It was a Wednesday when it happened, unsurprisingly. You've always despised Wednesdays, but nobody understands why. Everyone always hates Monday because you have to return to the monotony of a weekday and that's when they think all the bad stuff happens. But personally, you think Wednesday is disgusting, because it is so indecisive. It's right in the middle of the week, right when you are over school and pining for the weekend. It's not so close you can smell it, like Thursday. It's not so far away that it barely crosses your mind, like Tuesday. It's smack bang in the middle. Average. And average is just unacceptable to you.

Average used to be okay. There was a time when you didn't mind average. But then you realised that average just wasn't going to cut it if you wanted to make it to the top. You wanted to be the best. Not just the very best that you could be, but _the_ best. Even better than the people who were obviously more talented than yourself. And so who used to be your equal peers soon became the ultimate competition. And you never lose. Ever.

Deep down you know you probably shouldn't have ruined Caitlyn Gellar like you did. But she was going to beat you, and you just couldn't let that happen. And once you had crushed her down so far that you were certain she wouldn't get up again, you couldn't bring yourself to apologise. That would only make you look weak and lose focus on what was most important. Being the _best_. How is anyone supposed to see your light when you're surrounded by others who are brighter?

But over time you've really come to miss having Caitlyn around. You never realised how much you relied on her reason and honesty until you were stuck with two of the most vacuous limpets in the camp for cabin-mates. Sure, Peggy and Ella were nice enough, but you didn't know if they actually supported your decisions or were just too scared to argue. And you don't know why, but the latter option made you feel more powerful than you had in a long time. And you liked that feeling.

Manipulating people through fear was wrong and you knew it. But that overwhelming sense of control it gave you was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your little underhanded manoeuvres had the whole of Camp Rock in the palm of your hand. You don't know how you did it, and you weren't sure if you wanted it anymore, but what were you supposed to do? This was your camp now. And no matter how much you missed Caitlyn, it didn't matter because everyone else loved you. They did. You know they did.

Do you think you miss the things you love, or love the things you miss?

You don't even know what you love anymore. You've thought about what love really means so many fucking times that it's all just one big blur in your mind. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. How do you know? Have you been in love before? What if what you thought was love wasn't really love at all?

And then you felt ashamed for tormenting yourself over something as fickle and trivial as supposed love. Who even cares? The only people who need love are idiotic teenagers and insecure nobodies. And you sure as hell aren't an idiotic teenager or an insecure nobody.

So you manage to swing your way though life without really making any really meaningful connections. Not when you've got the clothes and the cars and the parties to keep you distracted. And you're just fine with that. You don't need anyone to make you feel like your something. You already know you are.

And then Mitchie Torres comes along and just ruins everything. Little Miss Perfect snatches away all that you had worked hard for, and with her shy smile and killer voice, everything that you had sacrificed comes down to nothing. Her light is so blinding and yet she doesn't even realise it, so you stick her in back-up so maybe she can blend in. You don't need anyone to stand out apart from you, especially not when there's the chance they might catch a cute celebrity instructors eye. No, that eye is yours and yours alone. So you cheat and lie and do what you do best to try and ruin Mitchie just as much as you ruined Caitlyn, because she too has slowly been gaining ground and you think that maybe it was time to put both of them back in their places.

What a disaster that turns out to be. Sure, you were the most talked about act of Final Jam, but for all the wrong reasons. You screwed up. You lost. How the hell did that even happen? One minute you feel on top of the world, like nothing can go wrong, and the next minute, you've forgotten your choreography and with one wrong step you've nearly fallen off the stage. You quickly look between the faces in the crowd, to the ones of triumphant jealous satisfaction, to the ones of confused pity, to that single one of shame and disappointment coming from your mother. Is that because of you, or does she actually feel guilty because she realises how rude and neglectful it was to do that in the middle of her own daughters performance?

You don't give a fuck anymore. It doesn't matter. All that mattered was that you got distracted and you failed. You took your eyes off the prize for one second and it slipped through your fingers. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You tear off stage and crawl into the darkest corner you can find, where you cry for yourself and the way you could have done it better with Peggy and Ella and the guilt of your mother and you cry because you haven't done it in a long time and you've forgotten just how fucking good it feels to let yourself go.

You decide that you've had enough for tonight. It's tiring keeping up an image, and you are one girl that needs a break. So you find yourself actually apologising and confessing your sins, although you know that it won't actually benefit you in any way. But you just know that it's the right thing to do. It's the right time. It's not as if you can sink much lower, anyway. And although that you never actually caught that specific eye that you'd been chasing, you figured he wasn't actually worth it. Sure, securing his affections would have meant that your profile was raised higher than any other girl, but when it came to down to it, he was just another competitor. And there's no way you could have won against him.

You've managed to establish a fraction of the friendship you had with Caitlyn. You took back one of the many horrible things you had done to her, and although it didn't make up for everything you had previously done, she stopped being so defensive towards you and you felt yourself getting pulled back in to that familiar rapport that one associates with emotional attachment.

Not good. Befriending the competition is like signing your own death warrant. It's a sure way to set you on the path of failure. And you try and detach yourself from those girls who you have grown close to over the rest of summer. They notice, barely, but Caitlyn is the only one who recognises the similar pattern and she cuts and runs before you get the chance to break her again (not that it was your intention. You just didn't want any more distractions that might prevent you from winning). And you know that everyone else is talking about you behind your back, trying to understand why you're a compulsive lying drama queen who self-destructs every relationship she enters into.

Good. You don't want their fucking sympathy. They don't need to understand. You like who you are. And no amount of any wannabe Dr. Phil psychoanalysis shit is going to change that.

So when you go back home, to the high life and the right social company, you only miss your sort-of friends when plastic, muppet-girls latch onto you, claiming to your BFF and then spill details on your sordid, scandalous life to the tabloids. And by sordid and scandalous, you mean unremarkable and relatively normal. You're just a regular teenager who has school and goes shopping and sings and dances to her favourite songs. You can't help that you have that competitive streak that drives you to be the very best. And in your world, you are the best. No-one measures up. You have no competition whatsoever, and the 'BFF's have to make up something to make their time spent with you seem interesting.

My God, you're bored during the year. You're not challenged. You know you're the best, but you can't prove it, because the people surrounding you just pale in comparison. You've just about given up on finding anyone worthy of bringing down.

But there he is.

Shane Gray.

You hate him. You hate him so much that you want to punch and kick and scream and kiss him crazily until you don't know what you're doing anymore.

You walk past him in the hall of the recording studio, rolling your eyes as he sends you a friendly smile, as always. You find it so repulsive how even after everything you say and do to him he still manages to be civil towards you. Why can't he just fight back? Why doesn't anyone ever fight back?

But the day he breaks is the day you become whole again, and sometimes you wonder if your life is like one big ironic joke, with no punchline. Because that particular day was a Wednesday, and you were bracing yourself for the worst, and when you hear yelling coming out of Studio 6 you wonder who else has had this god-awful day of the week fuck up for them too?

The door swings open, and Mitchie Torres appears, looking like a deer in the headlights when she sees you in between the tears overflowing from her eyelids. You just stare at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, completely lost for words. She huffs and storms away a second later, and you can see who she was arguing with. Him.

Shane Gray sees you staring like you've overdosed on Valium and are a second away from drool dribbling from the corners of your mouth, and it's like you switched roles, where he's the one who rolls his eyes at you while all you do is stand there doing absolutely nothing. He brushes past you as he follows Mitchie's lead out of the studio, but instead of making for the ladies room like his (ex?)girlfriend, he pushes open a door of a meeting room and collapses in one of the broad leather chairs, with his back to the door he didn't even bother closing.

He just looks so fucking miserable, and you can't help but feel uncharacteristically concerned. So you approach him and ask if he's okay, does he need to talk to someone. By someone, you obviously don't mean you. You've barely spoken three words to the guy in your entire life, so there must be someone more appropriate for the task, and besides, you're pretty sure that Mitchie must have told him about what you refer to as the 'Camp Rock debacle' and your subsequent disintegration of every friendship tie you held there.

But he opens he mouth and starts pouring out the reasons precisely why he's not okay. I sit myself up on the table to face him as he goes deeper into the subject of how Nate is freaking over the new sound and Jason had to go to the hospital for putting a birdhouse staple in his thumb and God, he has absolutely no idea where he stands with Mitchie right now. Their fights have been getting worse and worse and he thinks that might have been the final straw. He's been trying but she just doesn't see. He tries harder but it barely registers to her. He's beginning to wonder whether she wants him to try at all anymore.

_Why are you telling me this? _You wonder aloud. It wasn't in a rude or belittling way, you're just startled at how he can open himself up so willingly like that.

_I don't know._ He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. _Sorry, it's just…_

He trails off, trying to find the right words. And when he does, something jolts inside of you. Isn't it funny how one little sentence can change an entire opinion of a person?

_I'm so scared of losing her. _He whispers, staring vacantly out into the night.

When he says that, you realised that maybe you were worthy of competing with him after all. Hell, you could maybe even beat him. That was an opportunity just too good to give up. He was weak, malleable, like plasticine. The look on his face proved he attainable, vulnerable, that he was just as human as you or that silly girl he loves. And you wanted to conquer him so badly.

But then what would that achieve? You quickly flick over the pros and cons in your mind, and the various different ways you could manipulate this situation to your advantage, and surprisingly you come up with nothing. You just want to help him. Holy hell, what is the matter with you? He's weak now, right there for the taking! Attack, attack! Ready, aim, fire! There must be something that you can do that would be selfishly beneficial.

And yet you're still drawing blanks.

Well, you're here now, and he's looking up at you in mild embarrassment and you realise you've been silently pondering for a moment too long, so there's not much else you can do. You can't just up and run out of the room without saying anything, but at the same time, you really don't believe anything you do say would help, either.

But then you see Mitchie dabbing at her eyes and heading towards the meeting room, head bobbing from side to side like she was looking for something, or someone. You know exactly who she's looking for, and suddenly a crazy idea that just might work pops into your head, and you slide forward off the table and throw your arms around Shane's shoulders in a comforting hug, whispering that you're sure everything will work out in the end.

He seems taken aback for an instant, before hesitantly sliding his arms around your waist and muttering his thanks. You glance up to be sure Mitchie has seen the exchange, and sure enough, she's gaping at the two of you with a fresh batch of tears welling up behind her eyes. You send her a well practised self-satisfied smirk, and bury your face in the crook of Shane's neck, looking pleased with yourself. You even consider kissing him for a split second (just to satisfy the curiosity of what he tastes like – but you have a feeling he would be sweet or salty, and you like your boys a bit more sour), and quickly dismiss the nation as taking it too far. Mitchie has already seen quite enough.

She whimpers his name, and he quickly pulls away from you in surprise at hearing her voice. He looks in her direction in mild delight, which quickly turns to confusion when he sees how devastated she still looks. Looking between you and her, it clicks and he realises what she must be thinking. He quickly grabs your hips pushes you off him, exclaiming loudly that it's not what it looks like, but she's already taken off running back to the haven of the female toilet cubicles.

He stands up and moves towards where she stood, but you grab his wrist and tell him to not to go. He turns on you with fury written all over his face.

_What the fuck do you think you're doing?_ He hisses at you venomously.

You just wanted her to know a fraction of what it would feel like to let him get away. But if you admit to yourself that you selflessly helped him, her, them, there would be no turning back.

The mask is slipping, and you have to find a way to cover your tracks before you form an actual attachment.

No, you did it for yourself. Because while they were distracted in their petty quarrels and passionate romps and rebuilding the damaged trust you caused between them and all the complicated shit that comes with being in love, you could slip by unnoticed and claim your rightful success without batting an eyelid. It was too easy.

_She has to learn that not everything in life comes easily on a platter!_ You retort snidely, matching his deadly tone.

_Yeah, because you would know so much about that!_ When he sneers, his lips curls up and his nose wrinkles and you can see the loathing contorting his whole face, but his eyes are still those big, miserable pools of brown that tell you he has no idea what the hell is going on here.

_You have no idea what you're talking about! I worked hard for everything I've ever gotten._ Even though you initiated this impending disaster, you're not prepared for an all-out war, and you're caught off guard at how quick he is to tear you down. Then again, he doesn't know your true intentions. In his mind, you've just ruined the best thing that ever walked into his life. So you stand up as tall as you can, trying not to look intimidated, but even in your sparkly heels you still only come up to his nose.

_Yeah, right! _His sarcastic snort bites right into you. _I know what you do to get your own way._

_Enlighten me, why don't you? _You hope that your words are throwing him off, and you attempt to go in for the kill. _Because what do you know about me that isn't just hearsay? You. Know. Nothing. Because unlike you, I just don't go wearing my heart on my sleeve to girls I barely know, sobbing out my fucking life story!_

He freezes, and you can see the blood rushing to his face and the tiny droplets of sweat condensing on his top lip. He's about to break, and you know it.

_You know what? I just can't take this anymore!_ He shouts at you.

_What?_ You scoff condescendingly.

_Your bullshit! You're always so horrible to me, and I have no idea why! I've never done anything to you, and yet you take so much pleasure in being the cause of all this pain!_

_Shane… _You want to tell him. You want to tell him so badly that it hurts.

_No, enough! I don't want to hear it! I know why, it's because you're a bitch! And not just the kind of bitch that is horrible because she doesn't know better. You're the kind of bitch who destroys people just because she can!_ His angry voice carves into your chest like a meat cleaver and you can't remember how to breathe.

You didn't want it to be like this. You didn't know that he felt like that. You don't want him to think that's the kind of person you are.

But what kind of person are you, then?

He's noticed that his words have thrown you for a loop, and smirks in victory.

No.

He's not winning this.

Not this time.

You were only trying to help, damn it!

You can see him open his mouth to deliver the final blow, but you decide to change tactics.

_She'd be the one losing you._ You stutter over the words before he can say anything. Can he remember the words he previously said as vividly as you can?

_What did you say?_ His voice is perceptive and you know he heard you clear as crystal, but you understand why he needs clarification.

_Mitchie? It would be her loss._ You mumble at something fascinating over his shoulder to avoid his piercing gaze.

You don't know if you need to forgive him, or if you should ask for forgiveness, or if it's too late for either. And you feel like there's a plastic bag over your head as he takes a step forward to face you, and it's taking away your oxygen like you're in a vacuum that makes your head spin round.

You feel his eyes burning on your skin, but you can't bring yourself to look into them, because then you're pretty sure you'll have a friend, and that is the last goddamn thing you need right now. You don't want someone who can understand your actions without explanations or rationalizations. You don't want someone who can tell what you're thinking without you saying a word. But right now you know Shane is doing all that and more just by looking at you, and the tender hand on your shoulder makes your head snap up nervously, finally locking onto his stare.

_So, tell me about yourself, Tess Tyler._ He skeptically raises his eyebrows at you, with just a hint of a smile, and God, you just can't help yourself.

It's the first time you've ever been raw and open and honest in your life, and you're not proud of what you're saying, but at the same time you're so fucking happy you are. You tell him about your plastic celebrity life and your irrational fear of love and your mommy issues, about how you're not sure if she's genuinely ignorant of her own flesh and blood or if she's been mind-fucking you into becoming the person she secretly wants you to be.

But he takes your hand and squeezes it reassuringly and you think that maybe this Wednesday didn't turn out so bad after all.

At least you know that Mitchie Torres will put up a decent challenge this summer.

* * *

_This was a battle and a half, because I kept changing my mind and rewriting everything and now I don't know if I like it or not. Hmm. __**  
**Btw, yes, it is me, **Oo lovetoday oO**, but I figured it was time for a change, and I saw Slumdog Millionare and LOVED it. So I thought **It is written** would be perfect in more ways than one :)  
Hopefully that cleared up any confusion caused! Sorry about that! **Review?**_


End file.
